


Shadows

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [6]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Cold Weather, M/M, Mute Miles, Muteness, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Mount Massive Asylum, Running Away, Survival, Waylon hates the cold, Waylon's always cold, he hates everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 04:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12381006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Waylon is constantly afraid for his life. This night is no different as his mind rummages over all the events that have happened since escaping Mount massive and his overactive imagination has him fearing monsters in the darkness.





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> So i tried a Miles and Waylon survival fic. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.

It was cold. The mattress he was lying on was barely enough cushion to shield his body from the chill of the floor beneath. He could hear the pelting of the rain outside, the wind howling like a wolf at the door. Rattling and banging branches against the exterior of the building. It crept up underneath the siding and scraped along like claws across the surface. A grating sound that made him flinch. He tossed and turned on the meager mattress, pulling the thin blanket over his face to try and hide from the shadows thrown across the walls and ceiling every time lightning cracked across the sky. 

 

The cold and the rain made his leg throb painfully. The chill had seeped into his very core and no amount of clothing and blankets would stop it. It was ingrained into his very being. Since that fateful night he escaped Mount Massive. A shiver ran over him as he hunkered down, tugging the old blanket tighter against his body, further stretching the already fraying strands and expanding the holes that littered the center. He was miserable to say the least. His head throbbed, his stomach clenched up with twisting hunger pains and he took the last of his painkillers that morning. 

 

Running wasn’t something Waylon was prepared for. Least of all not after narrowly escaping Mount Massive.  He thought that meant he was home free. That he was safe, finally safe but Murkoff Corporation was a whole new beast.  It didn’t easily give up on it’s search, forcing Waylon to keep going. To leave behind his wife and boys for their own safety. Letting them hunker down in a remote safe house while he trekked all over the mountains and states to keep putting distance between himself and Murkoff. Always jumpy, always afraid, always looking over his shoulder.

 

Even going so far as to hide out in these shitty abandoned buildings like the homeless that called them home. The mattress was water stained and chewed up by rodents but it was better than the broken grimy floors that creaked and moaned beneath him. The only consolation was that he wasn’t entirely alone but even that was little because his companion wasn’t the most ideal choice. 

 

Miles Upshur, the man he called into this hellhole with him had tagged along the way. At first it was a frightening encounter when the furious brunette found him with his jeep outside of a crappy motel. Waylon met the Walrider face to face in that moment and nearly lost what little sanity he had left, terrified that the irate journalist and the shadowy entity would finish what Mount Massive and Murkoff started. To his relief, the male understood the situation and offered to help him out. 

 

That was little use in the end anyway. Miles had no money, his contacts were few and far between, having scattered to the wind when Murkoff started back tracking all those involved who had survived. The upside was that the brunette never really needed to sleep and eating was optional but miles would never turn down a cup of coffee, no matter how cheap and crappy which was saying something given their current accommodations. The man was also never cold which Waylon was increasingly jealous of now that winter was nearing and they were lacking in every department. To Miles despair, they had to ditch the Jeep a long ways back and “borrowed” a pickup truck that was on it’s last leg.

 

Waylon shivered as another gust of wind kicked up and caused the whole building to groan.  Before silence could settle again, a creak of boards caused Waylon to freeze in place. His eyes widened, too afraid to look up or move. Remaining in his huddled hump of existence beneath the rags of cloth and blanket. The sound of someone’s body weight shifting on an odd board came, leaning toward his direction from the doorway.  Heading for his corner of the room. He clutched the edges of the blanket tightly in his fingers, holding it for dear life and praying whatever was approaching would go away. 

 

He felt like a little kid once again, hiding under the blankets from the monsters only back then when his mother would reassure him that they didn't exist, now he knew all too well that they infact did. They may not have had gnashing teeth or long dagger like claws but they were monsters all the same. A cold chill scurried underneath the blanket, weaseling itself through the small gaps of material and causing another bout of shivering that Waylon couldn’t contain no matter how hard he tried. Lightning jolted across the sky and the downpour of rain stirred once again, pelting the rickety roof so hard it sounded like it might collapse any minute. The light cast a shadowy form on the other side of the blanket but Waylon didn’t dare investigate it. Holding his ground. 

 

A weight touched his shoulder, a hand gripping the cold stiff joints and running it’s warm touch down his arm. The action was far too gentle to be a monster but the silhouette was far from human. Two fingers hooked one of the many holes and gently tugged on the blanket, drawing it down from Waylon’s face, exposing the dirt smudged cheeks of the blonde. His eyes squeezed shut as the warm hand pressed against his flushed red cheeks. The cold had left its mark on every part of his body. Some areas were red and some were pale and numb. His fingers still held the edges of the blanket but he didn’t budge to recover what bits of material were taken. He heard the hum in the air, the static charge that made his skin prickle. It was an oddly familiar sensation as the shadowy presence pulled at his arm in a jerky motion. Trying to wake the male. 

 

The warm touch was overridden as cold tendrils reached out and wrapped around Waylon’s bicep and waist, pulling him over onto his back as the warm hand touched at his pulse point. The male didn’t speak. He hadn’t in a long time. Mostly because the sound of the Walrider mixing in with human speech was eerie and gave Waylon nightmares after the first few times. He was just getting over the presence that accompanied the creature and it’s host. The disturbance it left in the air and the horrors Waylon witness of it effortlessly ripping people apart are the very reason Waylon and miles sleep in two separate rooms. 

 

They don’t share a space if they can help it. At least not at night. The waking hours of day are fine but something about sharing a room at night left Waylon with night terrors. Often waking up in a cold sweat, screaming in fear as his hands were held up, shielding him from the creature’s attacks. All of it hallucinated of course. Waylon had transitioned from nightmares involving the Groom to the Walrider with ease and to be honest, he’d rather go back to having nightmares about Eddie Gluskin. Because at least he knew the Groom was dead.  It wasn’t a good feeling, that tidbit of information but at least Waylon knew there was one less person chasing after him. 

 

Waylon knew what Miles was doing. He meant no direct harm but the Walrider still left Waylon jumpy and afraid. Especially at night. Something about the darkness made it so much worse. As if it would allow the creature to leave it’s host and torment Waylon in his sleep if he let his guard down. The blonde male felt Miles’ hand rise up from his throat to gently tap at Waylon’s cheek, trying to get some sort of response out of him, to ensure he was alive and responsive.  

 

After a moment, the tapping became a little more frantic til one smooth flick of Miles’ wrist left a loud smack across his cold cheek. Waylon yelped as the sharp stinging pain shot through his jaw. He opened his pale blue eyes to meet the two glowing orbs that seemed to smolder like embers in the darkness with a sickly yellow center within black pits. They ignited when the lightning would start up, adding yet another image that further terrified the smaller blonde male. His mind quickly storing it away to harass his next sleep with on a later date. The brunette gave an apologetic smile, the shadows of the Walrider were leaking out of his body like a swarm of gnats, humming and buzzing around the air. The static charge caused Waylon to shiver, pulling himself up to a seated position. His back pressed against the wall as he gathered his legs up and tucked them against his chest. 

 

Miles tapped the top of his wrist as if trying to show an imaginary watch before holding up three fingers. It was 3:00 am. They had another hour of rest before it would be time to pack up and leave. Hitting the road before any other cars to get a head start on traveling to their next safe location. Supposedly, it was a cabin up north that one of Miles’ contacts set up for him a couple weeks back. They’ve been slowly making their way up, working around the search grids and checkpoints Murkoff’s security had placed trying to cut them off before they got too far out of their reach. They were aiming to make their way not only out of state but out of country.  Heading for good ol Canada where Murkoff wouldn’t be able to reach them. At least not right away. 

 

At this point Waylon didn’t care where they went. As long as it was warm, had food and running water. He was tired of running. Tired of feeling like shit and just plain tired.


End file.
